


The things you were missing

by DryDreams



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A heaping side serving of Martin pining for Jon, M/M, Oral Sex, Service Top, Tim is the best pal and they love each other, Touch-starved Martin, Trans Martin Blackwood, set during season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22094689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DryDreams/pseuds/DryDreams
Summary: “Can I kiss you?” Tim asks, and there’s nothing but sincerity in his pretty brown eyes.Dumbstruck and all of a sudden a bit in love, Martin slowly nods. He doesn’t know what else to do; he certainly isn’t going to turn down a kiss.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 54
Kudos: 503





	The things you were missing

Tim pops his head in to Martin’s makeshift room just after 5. Most everyone leaves at 5, most being everyone but Jon. And Martin, now.

“Martin!” Tim says brightly. “Heard you were lonely, came to visit!”

Puzzled, Martin squints at him from his place on the small couch. “Who said I was lonely?” He says, a bit defensively. 

He _is_ lonely … he just isn’t _telling_ people.

“You’re practically projecting it around you in a 10 foot sphere, mate.” Without waiting for further greeting, Tim waltzes his way over and sits down next to Martin. Their legs press together and Martin quickly looks down to hide how his face heats at the contact. So maybe he is a bit starved for human contact. Maybe. 

To his utter despair, Tim leans in and rests his chin on Martin’s shoulder. Never a personal space with Timothy Stoker around. “What are you working on?” He asks. 

Martin takes a deep breath, looking down at the blank page in front of him.

“I’m trying to write.”

“Poetry?”

With a sigh, Martin closes the notebook. “Or something,” he says. Tim intercepts him before he can put it on the table and flips it back open to the blank page. 

“Tim…” Martin says tiredly. Tim just turns to face him, now cross legged on the couch and readies a pen over the page. He’s smiling, and he’s very cute, so Martin doesn’t complain further. “What are you doing?” He asks instead.

“Helping!” Tim responds. “Just tell me what sort of feels were you trying put into pretty words and I’ll take a crack at it.”

Martin laughs lightly. Tim’s idea of poetry is Imagine Dragons lyrics. But as has been pointed out, Martin is lonely. He really does appreciate the chipper company and already feels a little warmer inside than he did a few minutes ago. Also, he trusts Tim to be a kind, listening ear. 

“Tim’s version of asking for a statement?” He jokes.

Tim makes a face. “Boo.” He says and Martin laughs louder. 

“Alright, fine.” He pauses and Tim looks on expectantly. Then Tim scribbles something and Martin sputters. “I’ve not said anything yet!” 

Tim grins. “I can see it in your eyes. Carry on.” 

After a very suspicious look, Martin looks down at his hands and begins to explain how he’s been feeling. He misses his flat, and his plants and it’s always cold at the Archives. When Jon had first offered the safe haven, he’d been a bit excited, actually. You know, Jon always spends ages here so he thought, maybe… they could get to know each other a little better! But no. Jon is always barricaded in his office being shifty; he always looks at Martin like he’s doing something _wrong,_ and Martin cannot figure out what. He tries so hard. Everyone is quiet and sad and cold, and constantly on edge. Martin is sad, and cold, and scared. And so lonely. 

It’s not eloquent, but Tim quietly listens, scribbling every so often. 

After a few minutes, Martin feels like he’s exhausted what he feels he can say without seeming too whiny. So he trails off, peering up at Tim who is watching him with a soft, sympathetic look. 

“Thanks for listening,” Martin says quietly, a bit embarrassed. He’s said more than he intended and hopes that he hasn’t looked a gift horse in the mouth. 

“Oh, Martin.” Tim says. “I’m sorry.” 

For a moment Martin shuts his eyes, willing himself not to cry or do anything else embarrassing. “It’s alright. Not like I’ve got it worse than anyone else—“

When he opens his eyes, Tim is inches away from his face. Blushing furiously, Martin stops talking. 

“Can I kiss you?” Tim asks, and there’s nothing but sincerity in his pretty brown eyes. 

Dumbstruck and all of a sudden a bit in love, Martin slowly nods. He doesn’t know what else to do; he certainly isn’t going to turn down a kiss. Not when he’s been dreaming every night about Jon and his hands and his mouth and losing his goddamn mind just wanting to be _touched,_ in _any way at all._ And this is Tim! Nice, funny, attractive Tim who has listened to him lament and who Martin honestly thought entirely out of his league and… who… is… very good at… kissing. 

Martin breathes out sharply against Tim’s mouth, curling into him like paper burning. There’s a hand cradling his cheek and another solid on his sternum, thumb gently in the hollow of his throat. When Tim presses further Martin eagerly parts his lips for him, absolutely drowning in the soft slide of it all. He tastes a bit like fruity gum, which is ridiculous but not surprising. 

“Martin… can I…” Tim slips his hand under Martin’s sweater and dips his fingers under the waistband of his pants. It takes immense force of will for Martin to pull back, gently grabbing Tim’s wrist. 

“Tim, are you just doing this because you feel sorry for me?”

Tim blinks at him, mouth rounding into a surprised o. “I… no? I mean…”

Martin bites his lip, chest tightening with disappointment. Tim frowns. “No, Martin. I mean, _maybe…_ No, look. Maybe I want to help, and maybe this is the only way I know how to help because I’m a bit of a whore but you're in desperate need of a snog, and you’re _pretty_ and you’re my friend.” 

It takes a moment for this to sink in and Martin tilts his head, puzzling. “You think I’m… pretty.” He says haltingly. Tim’s fingers slide just slightly over his hip and _God that feels nice._ He can’t help but arch slightly towards him. 

Tim tilts his head the same way. “Yeah. ‘Course I do. And I wouldn’t kiss you if I didn’t want to kiss you.”

Heart beating in his ears, Martin nods. “It’s.. it’s really nice. Kissing someone,” he says softly. Tim quirks a sideways smile. 

“Really nice.” Effectively sealing their fates, he reaches up and tucks a curl behind Martin’s ear. “I can make you feel really good, if you like?” He says earnestly. “Just say the word. You deserve to be wanted, Martin, and I want you.”

“You deserve to be wanted” stings as much as it feels good, but Martin knows he’s projecting the sour meaning onto it. 

He wants this. There’s absolutely nothing saying he shouldn’t, couldn’t have it. So he says yes, with the slightest twinge of guilt because he knows that every so often, he’ll wish it were Jon‘s hands instead. 

When Tim kisses him again, though— he realizes that it’s different. Nothing like he imagined kissing Jon would be, it’s messy and _fun,_ and it’s Tim. Martin is glad that it’s Tim. Maybe he doesn’t feel so guilty. 

He lets Tim tip him backwards and press him into the couch, straddle his thigh and mouth at his neck. The various things Tim murmurs have Martin dizzy with praise. “So lovely, Martin…” 

They spend a long while just making out; Tim seems perfectly content to keep kissing forever. He makes small, desperate noises in the back of his throat when Martin bites at his bottom lip. 

It’s Martin who finally breaks the spell though, moaning a bit louder than he means to when Tim shifts and his thigh presses between Martin’s legs. Tim pulls back. He looks rather debauched, mouth wet and hair mussed and cheeks pink. Something in Martin’s chest flutters. “Do you wanna—“ He trails off and sits back on his heels, sliding his hand up Martin’s thigh. “Can I go down on you?”

If Tim weren’t between Martin’s thighs he’d have squeezed them together but instead he just squirms. Tim bites his lip and smiles. 

“Only because you’re so charming,” Martin says and Tim’s smile grows into a cheeky grin. 

It’s like a switch flipped, as soon as he has permission Tim turns slinky and seductive, leaning back down as he pops the button on Martin’s jeans. He licks at the shell of Martin’s ear and Martin goes burning hot all over as he whispers; “You’re gonna taste so _good.”_

A breath Martin didn’t even realize he was holding comes out in a needy whine. “Shhh..” Tim breathes and kisses him, hot and slick. “I’ve got you.”

Martin is shaking slightly when Tim sits back up and rids him of his pants. He looks at the ceiling, self-conscious and Tim doesn’t bother him about it. Instead he kisses the inside of Martin’s knee and tucks it over his shoulder and says; “You are so pretty, Martin.”

Then there’s a firm hand on his other thigh and hot breath and a very clever tongue. The air in Martin’s lungs is punched out of him as Tim immediately does something that makes his legs shake. “Oh _God, fuck,”_ Martin gasps and his fingers scrabble against the back of the couch. 

Tim huffs out a laugh and Martin can feel it against his dick. Of course Tim is fantastic at giving head, of _course_ he is. 

When Martin gingerly rests his hand on Tim’s head, Tim glances at him and then comes up for air. His chin is wet and Martin feels dizzy. “You can pull my hair,” Tim says simply. 

Martin blinks at him and then does so, grabbing a fistful and tugging. Tim moans, loudly and his eyes flutter shut. Martin just watches, starstruck. As if nothing had happened at all Tim enthusiastically returns to his task, now making contented, wanting sounds as he works his jaw. He whines low in his throat whenever Martin pulls on his hair.

“God, Tim.” Martin babbles, barely able to focus on anything except Tim’s mouth and his tongue, the wet noises and how fucking _good_ he feels. “You’re so... _hnng_ … you’re so gorgeous, feels so good.”

Tim looks up at him through eyelashes wet with … tears? Maybe...maybe not tears. Martin doesn’t think about it, just feels it low in his belly. Then Tim pulls back, replacing his tongue with two rubbing fingers, moving quickly enough over his sensitive dick that Martin gets no time to breath. This change of pace is what starts him feeling close and Tim knows it; he’s a step ahead. 

“If only Jon could see you now,” Tim says, low and Martin nearly blacks out. His mouth opens but no words form at all. Tim’s expression holds nothing malicious, only affection, want, and something a bit sad. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.” Tim says with finality and Martin nearly falls off the couch as he comes. The hand on his hip keeps him steady though, and Tim strokes him through as he shakes apart. 

When Martin catches his breath, he’s conflicted. He feels _really_ good, tired and boneless, thoroughly fucked and kissed and… wanted. Yeah. Tim had achieved his goal. But also, what the fuck? 

Tim hands him his boxers and wordlessly he puts his feet on the floor and tugs them on. “Sorry,” Tim says quietly. “That was too far.”

Martin blinks down at his hands for a moment. Then he turns and pulls Tim into a kiss, softer than anything before. Tim makes a surprised noise and then softens in return, bringing a hand up to rub gently at Martin’s cheek with his thumb. 

When they break apart Martin looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. “You knew?” He asks. 

Tim looks away. “You’re not subtle. Jon is just oblivious. Look, Martin—“

“Tim,” Martin tries to cut him off but Tim grabs his hand, looking back at him with a bit of anger in his eyes. 

“No, listen. You deserve so much better. I get it, okay, I get what you see in him. But you don’t _have_ to be lonely. You’re just sitting in this room waiting for him to realize that you’re more than good enough, which, yes. You _are_. But there are other people who would love you.”

Martin’s throat tightens. “Like you?” He asks, flatly.

Tim opens his mouth and then shuts it again. Then he sighs. “I mean, I… I love you, Martin. I’m not. I don't know if I’m _in_ love with you. But I love you and I want you to be happy.” 

Martin feels like maybe he should be angry, but he isn’t. Hell, what Tim said had unquestionably sent him over the edge, which is something he doesn’t want to unpack right now. If anything Martin appreciates the sentiment, though.

“Thanks, Tim.” He says. Tim looks at him with a sad smile. They both know it’s not so simple, that Martin can’t just... move on.

“My pleasure, really.” Tim says. “And— anytime.”

With a start, Martin realizes that he’s not reciprocated in the slightest. He looks wide-eyed at Tim and reaches out, not sure what he’s trying to achieve. “Fuck, I’m sorry, do you… can I do something? For you?” He stutters. 

Tim looks confused for a moment and then looks mildly embarrassed. “I uh. No I’m… um.” He gestures at his crotch and Martin looks down to see that his jeans are damp. 

“Oh,” Martin says simply, suddenly blushing furiously. “Oh.”

Tim laughs awkwardly. “You were really hot,” he says and Martin hides his face in his hands. 

“God,” he groans. “That was really good. You’re really good.” When he looks up again Tim is grinning at him. 

“Always nice to get a good review,” he quips and Martin lightly punches his arm, smiling back. 

“I think there are some of Jon’s clothes in here, I bet the uh, the…” Martin eyes Tim for a moment. “The sweatpants might fit you.”

A mischievous glint appears in Tim’s eye. “Jon is still here, you know,” he says slowly and Martin’s eyes widen in horror. “I could go… _ask_ him if I could borrow his pants…”

“Oh my God, _no_ you can’t!” Martin hisses, looking nervously at the door. 

Still grinning, Tim stands up slowly and backs towards the door. “I bet he wouldn’t even know why, he wouldn’t notice come on.”

Hurriedly Martin follows him, but when he gets close Tim grabs his wrist, pulls him close and kisses him soundly. Martin makes a muffled noise of surprise but melts into it, kissing back. 

“Your secret is safe with me, Martin.” Tim says sincerely when he pulls away. “But you let me know if you change your mind. Or,” he winks. “If that offer of reciprocation still stands.” 

Shaking his head, Martin smiles. “Yeah, it stands. Come visit whenever you like.”

He remembers then what they’d started with when Tim first got there, and turns back to the couch. “What did you write, anyways?” He asks and goes to pick up the notebook. 

There aren’t any words on the page, just some small, surprisingly communicative doodles. There’s a houseplant, with a flower sprouting out of it. A sun with a smiley face inside it. A couch with two vaguely Martin and Tim shaped figures, facing each other. And there’s Jon, asleep at his desk, surrounded by piles of rectangles. “Ah,” Martin says softly. “It’s us.” 

“I’m no good at poetry,” Tim says. “But I drew what you said you were missing.” 

Martin smiles, and he feels a little sad. But he doesn’t feel as lonely as he did before. “Thank you, Tim. I love it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I fucking. Love Timothy Stoker. With my whole heaaart. Maybe they’ll all end up boyfriends in this universe, who knows, follow your hearts dear listeners. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
